


A Pocket In Time

by inquestionabletaste



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, M/M, Oral Sex, Taboo, background homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 14:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12278730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquestionabletaste/pseuds/inquestionabletaste
Summary: Ilia is a prodigal young mage, an apprentice to Interrogator Rulundil, an overachieving only son to a prominent Thalmor family, and also happens to enjoy men as much as he enjoys women. He finds there isn't much difference between bedding men and women, except for the near constant worry that his gentlemen friends might turn on him at any given moment...





	A Pocket In Time

**Author's Note:**

> For a kink meme prompt: "... two Thalmor agents of the same sex - can be oc, dragonborn, or npc's, whoever you like - having an affair. It can be a long, drawn out emotional thing or it could be just a hot one-night stand where they never speak of it again."

It had been a long day; a long  _week_. Ilia wasn’t the sort to refrain from complaint: yes, he’d had things worse and yes there were those worse off than him. That was irrelevant, he grumbled to himself as he strode down the hall, the stone cool beneath his feet. Many of the senior members maintained modesty. He didn’t. He walked the halls with his towel slung around his narrow hips and his fine, satin robe left open, revealing a strip of pale chest and stomach. His superiors liked to gasp and wring their hands like his body wasn’t something they’d already seen a dozen times in their centuries of life.   
  
 _They could at least own the pearls if they’re going to go through the motions_ , he thought snidely, opening the door to the spa. Steam billowed out in thick clouds before engulfing him once he entered the room. A small comfort from home in this foreign, frozen mud puddle. He took a seat on the wooden bench and cradled his face in his hands; a dull ache was peaking between his temples. The frigid weather dried out his sinuses and he was tired of his nose bleeding.  
  
He lounged, letting his back touch the wall, groaning as the heat melted the stress and the pain. He cracked an eye open when he heard the door, the soft sound of bare feet on the floor. He nodded at his visitor: another Altmer man. His face seemed familiar. A soldier more likely than an officer.   
  
He nodded back, nonchalant. They didn’t exchange names.  
  
He was well made, Ilia observed casually, hard muscles sculpted onto a thick frame. Intimidating, and yet mouth-watering. His skin was golden — not cool like Ilia’s, but dusky. His long, loose hair was spun firelight, and Ilia wondered how hair could even be that color.  
  
Clearing his throat, he watched the man watch him, which was encouraging. This was always the trickiest part, trying to gauge what level of interest was being shown. If it was just passive admiration, that was flattering, but Ilia had very little use for flattery.   
  
Playing with the hem of his towel, Ilia asked, “Would you mind terribly?” He gestured, just to make it plain.   
  
The other man smiled; he had nice teeth and keen eyes. “Not terribly.”  
  
Unfolding his towel, Ilia exposed himself, relaxed. “Not that I’d mind,” he said somewhat cryptically. The circuitous volleying was irritating.   
  
A loaded pause. “Oh, good.” The man readjusted, releasing the the fragile hold on his towel, revealing a thick, relaxed cock.   
  
The two of them sat basking in the dense steam, stealing glances at one another, stealing glances at the door in case they should be joined by anyone else. Ilia gazed at the man’s lips — full, but not like a woman’s. The lines around his mouth told Ilia he was older, though how much older was impossible to tell. He was impeccably manicured, but he had time-worn scars here and there along his body.   
  
Ilia’s hands crept nervously along his own thighs, his hairs standing on end: he wanted to touch himself, but even though he was almost certain this man was agreeable, he didn’t want to take even a small misstep…though he wouldn’t be able to hide for much longer.  
  
The man licked his lips, his amber eyes trained unabashedly on Ilia’s growing erection, but he didn’t say anything.  
  
Gingerly, Ilia took his cock in his hand, and slowly he began pleasuring himself. With his other hand, he pushed his hair out of his face to make eye contact. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he spat in his palm, gratified by the low grunt that inspired. He slicked his palm over his cock, faster now, face flushed. His eyes skipped from his partner’s defined chest to his strong, scarred arms, down his sides and along the v in his hips. He wasn’t slender like Ilia, but he still managed a certain poetry, a certain grace.  
  
Ilia was watching his cock stiffen, watching him take it in both of his hands. Biting his lip, he nodded at the door; the man nodded back and locked it. He kept Ilia’s gaze as his hand returned to his cock. Ilia moaned.

They stayed like that for a while, tugging on their cocks and staring at one another, quiet but for their breath coming faster and the occasional groan. Ilia could go either way, but as he admired the man’s body — hard and generally larger than his own — he couldn’t help imagining lying beneath him, legs wrapped around those strong hips while he got ploughed. Standing, he turned and perched on his knees; he kept his hand on his cock, putting his hips into it. His other hand wandered behind him, brushing his hole. He’d never been so glad for his neurotic hygiene; even he couldn’t have predicted his good luck today.   
  
“Well look at you,” the man complimented. Ilia could practically feel his stare, his skin tingling. “Spread for me, let me see.”   
  
Face hot from steam and arousal, Ilia reached behind himself with both hands — his cock heavy and neglected. He spread his ass, allowing himself to be gawked at, appraised maybe. A nervous lump stuck in his throat, but he dismissed it, swallowing hard.   
  
“You’re not new at this, I see,” he said. “Good.”   
  
Quietly, Ilia released a sigh — a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He played with himself, circling the finger around his hole, teasing; he wasn’t going to show off for a stranger when he didn’t have any lubricant, but the suggestion was fun. Pitching forward, he leaned toward the wall, one of his other hands snaking back around his hip to massage his balls, to resume stroking himself.   
  
“Oh, you are perfect, aren’t you.”  
  
He was, and the recognition made his blood sing.   
  
“Do you like to suck cock?”  
  
Sharply, Ilia threw his gaze over his shoulder. The man was staring at him, drinking up the angles of his body; slowly, his hand moved over himself. Ilia loved to suck cock, but he wasn’t about to say as much. “For you? I wouldn’t mind.”   
  
The man’s beautiful mouth split into a grin. “Come here, then.”   
  
Collecting his towel, Ilia folded it over a few times to put something soft between his knees and the floor. He knelt between his legs and nuzzled his cock, kissing it, enjoying the warm skin on his lips. Taking it in one hand, he licked it in wide, slow stripes. A knot in his gut clenched in equal parts anxiety and ecstasy: it had been months since he’d fucked another man. Some primordial part of his brain still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t going to die here on his knees, pleasuring his killer. A moan resonated above him, and he unclenched as it rumbled through his body. Shame colored his face. He enjoyed the taste: musky skin and salty sweat.  
  
“Don’t be shy,” he was told, a hand pushing through his hair.   
  
Ilia took the hint. He pulled back the foreskin and wrapped his lips around the head, moaning around it. His own cock was throbbing between his legs, almost painful from inattention. Reaching down, he resumed playing with himself, loosely jerking his hand over himself while he tried to take more of his partner’s cock. He loved the weight and heat of it in his mouth, his tongue sliding along the shaft, the wet sound of it sliding past his lips.   
  
Another moan. “Think you can take all of it?”  
  
Pulling off, Ilia twisted his hand over it, smiling, lips swollen and dark. “I’d love to try.” He allowed a pool of saliva to build in his mouth to make it easier; sliding it on his tongue, he sucked it slowly into his mouth. He got the tip past his throat, but after that he gagged. Embarrassed, he pulled away.  
  
“That’s alright.” The man stroked his face softly, with an open palm. “We’ll just have to practice.”  
  
“I want to,” he said breathlessly. He offered his open mouth and moaned as that thick, warm cock pushed past his lips again. He let his head be held, let his mouth be used, spitting around him when he couldn’t swallow. He gagged again and retreated without meaning to. “Sorry,” he said, red-faced.   
  
“Don’t be.” The tender kernel of kindness in his voice made Ilia flinch, and they both pretended not to notice.

“I…” he hesitated. “I’d like it if you came on my face.”  
  
“What about your beautiful ass?”  
  
Ilia nodded eagerly. “That’s good for me, too.”  
  
His partner stood and moved around him, leaving his towel on the bench and grabbing something out of a robe pocket. Oil. Of course.   
  
“Get up here.” He patted the bench beside him and Ilia obeyed. “Hands and knees.”   
  
Ilia moaned, a shameful admission. The man poured an unnecessary amount of oil into his hand and began twisting it firmly over Ilia’s cock. Ilia rolled his hips, fucking his fist, desperate. He didn’t mind when he felt a strong hand guiding his head back between the man’s legs. He opened his mouth and closed his eyes, lips moving along the stiff shaft. He sucked on it, bobbing his head vigorously; he knew he probably looked ridiculous, mouth wet and a searing flush across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. His vanity could suffer for his pleasure, though. He groaned when he felt the hand wander to his balls, massaging, and then further behind him. A well oiled finger teased his ass and he moaned a loud affirmative. A pang of dread shot through him and he hoped they wouldn’t be found out, but he eased up as a single finger entered him, slow but obviously practiced.   
  
“Keep sucking.”  
  
“ _Mhm_.”  
  
Ilia rearranged himself until he’d straightened out his insides. He was sloppy on the man’s cock, spit escaping his lips; he was moving his head more than he was sucking, but his partner didn’t seem to mind. His finger began pushing a little faster, a little harder, and Ilia reveled in it, the pressure building somewhere in his navel.   
  
“Make yourself cum with my cock in your mouth, with my fingers in your ass.” He pushed another inside and Ilia thought he was going to see stars.   
  
Bracing himself against the bench, his nails almost digging into the wood, Ilia reached underneath himself and tugged clumsily on his cock, imagining his ass being filled with the one in his mouth. “I wish you would fuck me,” he gasped, coming up for breath, filter obliterated. “I want your cock...I want your cum….” He was incessant and embarrassing but he couldn’t shut up. “I want you to use me.”  
  
“Wouldn’t I love that,” his partner growled above him, angling his fingers forward and down, persistent. Ilia was seeing spots in his vision; he was hot and full and the tension in his gut was at capacity. “Keep touching yourself, I want to see you cum all over your hand.” He pushed Ilia back onto his cock, fucking his face.   
  
He felt wrung and taut all at once, like he might snap at any moment. The fingers in his ass pushed and rubbed, insistent, and the bitter taste of a stranger’s cock in his mouth, the force of it past his lips pushed him and pushed him. He came, hard, making a mess of his hand and the towel under him, moaning pathetically around the cock in his mouth.   
  
“Good boy.”  
  
Ilia groaned, going limp under the praise.   
  
“That’s it, that’s it. Now come on, up, on all fours on the ground.”   
  
Obedient, Ilia did as he was instructed. The floor was hard under his hands and knees, but he didn’t much care. With one hand, he reached around and spread his ass.   
  
“Oh, that’s it, show me everything. Look at you, all stretched.” He could hear the wet slick of the man’s hand over his cock and smiled. He felt a big, warm hand on his ass, squeezing, appreciating. “You are just perfect,” he repeated. Ilia glowed. His mouth fell open and he gasped when he felt a finger pushing inside him a little; not nearly as far as before, thankfully. He smiled and listened as the narrative went on, haphazard and a little unintelligible. “Alright, spread for me again, love.”   
  
Face pressed against the balmy stone floor, Ilia reached back and held his ass open, ready and waiting. He groaned, happy when he felt the first splash of warm, thick cum on his skin; it splattered across his ass, dripping down between his legs. There was a murmured litany of praise behind him and he felt a finger push some cum inside him. He was disgusted and elated all at once.

Slowly, Ilia came around, realizing he was face-first on a floor, covered in cum. Abruptly, he felt like the wind had been punched out of him. Standing, he collected himself, wiping himself down; he could still feel the mess that had been pushed inside him and cringed.   
  
“Sorry,” his new friend smiled apologetically.   
  
“No, it was good.” Ilia moved closer but lost his resolve and faltered, feeling awkward. Silence enshrouded them, like the tiny room was stuffed with cotton rather than steam. Ilia wrapped himself in a new towel and stayed to help. They’d left surprisingly little evidence, but it needed to be clean. When the floor and benches were spotless and when the bottle of oil had been stoppered and everything looked exactly as it had when they’d entered, the two men turned and looked at one another.  
  
Ilia didn’t know if he would ever see this soldier again. They didn’t run in the same circles. It was a big place. He was out in the field.   
  
“Thank you,” he said candidly. “I needed that,” he smiled.  
  
His soldier smiled back at him, something like melancholy creeping behind his perfect teeth. “Me, too.” He seemed to find the nerve that Ilia had lost and stepped forward, kissing the intersection of nose and forehead, right between the eyes. Pain thudded behind his skin and Ilia hadn’t realized he was tense. “You’re young and you’re beautiful,” he murmured. “Take care of yourself.”   
  
Ilia nodded before breaking from him, slipping his robe back over his shoulders. Feeling oddly exposed, he tied it closed. “Goodnight.”   
  
“Goodnight, Second Officer.”  
  
Ilia felt as though he’d been struck by lightning and fled. It was a dignified, unhurried retreat, but a retreat just the same. He passed several of his peers in the hall, but ignored their stock greetings. Nothing existed except his panic. He crossed the threshold into his room and shut the door, locking it. What he was fortifying against, he didn’t know. Shedding his towel and robe, he took care to hang them on their hooks before pulling on soft night pants. He hated sleeping in clothes but he felt like he’d been skinned. Pouring a glass of water from the pitcher on his end stand, he burrowed under the blankets. Mentally, he chased himself in circles, trying to determine if he’d just been caught in a trap. His headache worsened, a crown of thorns. He rolled around in bed, getting twisted up in his sheets, his deductions little more than a snarled thicket of jumped conclusions and well-deserved paranoia.  
  
When sleep came for him, it was fickle and left him more exhausted than when he began.  
  
In the morning, he took strong coffee bolstered with brandy — for the headache, for his nerves. At first, he couldn’t tell if the stares had turned from resentful to revolted, but with time, the unease receded and business resumed as usual. He thought of making up a reason to visit the barracks. He didn’t even have a name to search for, though.   
  
Eventually, the waters calmed and he returned to himself — which was to say, he found something more work-appropriate to obsess over. 


End file.
